We all love a good use of symbolism. When the water is deeper than it appears. Sometimes the depth is subtle, sneaky in the best of ways. Other times, it’s drawn on with a heavy hand, like marker scribbled all over a sleeping friend’s face.

And the truth of the matter is that all great stories have layers. They all have opinions and worldviews behind the ink and frames, as they should. Beyond entertainment, that’s what stories are for.

But the ink of subtlety’s pen has seemed pretty inconsistent lately: either the ink bleeds all over the page until the words are drowned, or it doesn’t flow at all.

So, where’s the line between deep and preachy? How far can a metaphor be stretched until it snaps like an old rubber band?

The movie mosaic.

One of the great curses of the internet is that it forces us to know things we never needed to learn. It stuffs my mind with knowledge that teeters somewhere between useless and destructive, and almost always unbidden.

Every time I scroll, there’s a new interview snippet, or movie clip, or loud opinion and brash generalization—and who knows, really, what’s to be praised, and what’s supposed to warrant a slow shaking head. It’s hard to keep up. With my mind pulled in twenty different directions, my head is spinning by the time I have a moment to catch my breath and check the facts.

All this to say, I watch things in pieces and try to put them together. The picture usually comes out a bit warped, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s not how it always looks. Because when it comes to the world of stories, there are two pictures I seem to keep seeing: plots written in big, bright, blinking lights, and plots written completely with burnt-out bulbs.

Subtly to the minimum and subtly to the max. Where did the in-between go?

Who needs subtlety?

Some stories really seem to embrace the idea of “tell don’t show,” don’t they?

As an exampke, let me introduce you to one of my favorite movies: Robin Hood (2018), AKA one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen.

If you’ve seen it, I know you’re sitting there nodding your head as the memories flash back to you. It’s got it all: horribly gray color grading, numerous historical inaccuracies, costumes that looks like they’re from JCPenney, Maid Marian in smokey eyeshadow—and, to top it all off, it’s truly got the subtlety of a midnight car alarm.

It opens with sheer exposition, telling you, “Hey, this isn’t like a normal Robin Hood movie. Don’t expect that. Forget everything about Robin Hood.” Which, as a diehard Robin Hood fan, really made me go, “Ok, well, then why did you make this movie?”

We’re going to ignore the fact that they only call him “Rob” in this movie (not Robin, and never Robin Hood, far as I can remember), and skip to my favorite part.

In fact, let me paint a picture for you.

I’m alone in my room. I’m watching this movie for the first time. It’s near the middle of the movie—a big battle, between Robin—I’m sorry, I mean ROB—and the Sheriff’s Men. ROB is seeing his friends (who were probably not called the Merry Men) get hurt on his behalf. I’m nodding in the darkness of my bedroom, face lit up by my laptop screen.

Ok, I think. This could go somewhere.

And it should’ve. It should have been an emotional moment, where the camera and acting show how ROB is torn up by his choices.

I thought hey, is ROB going to sneak away from his guys, go straight to the sheriff and say “take me in”?

Or maybe he’ll surrender…

Worst case scenario, he’ll throw down his bow and say “That’s enough!” but it can’t be worse than that.

…

Oh boy.

I kid you not, he stands up on a platform and says, “I am sacrificing myself.”

I AM SACRIFICING MYSELF.

My mouth hung open. I had to pause the movie and sit back in my chair. I laughed in sheer disbelief, because who in their right mind would write that?

First of all, ain’t that a pretentious thing to say out loud.

Second of all, thanks mate, I knew that already.

You can’t get any less subtle than that. Forget acting, forget cinematography—forget the power of score and lighting. Just tell the audience point-blank. Pull the trigger of “duh” right in their face and call it day. I’m sure no damage will be done.

But that’s only one side of the problem coin. What happens when you don’t ever say anything? Can you be too subtle?

Too deep to understand.

Sometimes, we writers try to be deep and mysterious.

And we end up so deep and mysterious that nobody knows what we’re talking about.

Iron Lung is a great example of this.

LISTEN. I know. I know.

People love that movie. It did really well at the box office. It’s an indie film. It’s by Markiplier. These are all things I should be praising, I hear you, I get it.

Personally, I don’t think it was a great movie.

It was too long and said too little. It hinted at themes, but never formed words. It was…artsy, I suppose. But only enjoyable if you don’t mind coming away with nothing but a vauge and nihilistic view of the world. I don’t think I can tell you what it’s about, other than 2 hours of Markiplier doing the same thing over and over again. And maybe that’s your cup of tea.

But it was subtle to the point of exhaustion. It’s like I knew there was a story out there, somewhere in the movie’s world, but not in the submarine I was forced to sit in. Questions were only asked, never answered.

And I understand that’s part of the appeal. I have friends who love that kind of storytelling, especially in horror.

But being vague, full of contradiction and confusion, is not what depth is.

Depth has meaning behind it. Something solid. Something clear, even if it’s not stated outright. When you’re too vague, eventually it seems as if you never had a meaning to begin with.

Is allegory impossible, then? Is there truly no middle ground?

I’ve thought a lot about this over the past few weeks, since I’ve been tasked by my mentor to write an allegory. I don’t want it to be overly subtle, or overly preachy.

If only there were a place I could go to tackle the hard questions like these!

Oh wait. There is.

Christian Writer Con!

Christian Writer Con 2026 is a new online conference hosted by The Company! They’re prepared to tackle a bunch of tough questions, like:

• How do I write an impactful short story?
• How do I write gospel themes for unbelievers so that they’ll actually listen?
• How do I authentically incorporate real people and events into my stories?

I’ll be helping host a session (on how to write killer short stories), but I’m really excited to hear author Noah J. Matthews talk about allegory. He’ll be hosting a session called “Dirty Apologetics” on how to write gospel themes for an unbelieving audience.

Allegory is a powerful tool. Wielded correctly, it can carry that in-between kind of subtle, the kind that displays depth and symbolism before you even notice it’s there. I’m looking to grow in that area, so this will be a super fun session to attend!

Have questions of your own? Can’t wait to register for the conference?

Learn all about Christian Writer Con by clicking here!

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